Crapsticks in My Doughnut Hole
by dawnkiwi
Summary: WARNING: Culturally insensitive, politically incorrect, misogynistic and offensive material expressed here-within. Do not take any advice or tips from either female nuisance, and be aware of their delinquent tendencies. Parental guidance recommended. Drug use, lawlessness, funny stuff and dangerous antics liberally spread. Vote Kumbone, vote America. Paul/OC Embry/OC


**Crapsticks in my Donut Hole **- A Twilight fanatical fanfiction of furiously fraudulent proportions.

Featuring

Dylan Pancieta

Bailey Kombone

Embry Call

and

Paul Lahote

* * *

Summery: WARNING: Culturally insensitive, politically incorrect, misogynistic and offensive material expressed here-within. Do not take any advice or tips from either female nuisance, and be aware of their delinquent tendencies. Parental guidance recommended. Drug use, lawlessness, funny stuff and dangerous antics liberally spread. Vote Kumbone, vote America.

* * *

Problem Child - ACDC  


A dart hit the board.

Dylan snorted and flipped a page in her magazine.

"What are you snorting at?" Bailey asked, looking sideways, even though Dylan was seated behind her. She has long, dark brown hair, which she uses to shield herself from the sun, rain and people, by not brushing it and allowing it to flow free, like the seed of Chucky.

Dylan shrugged, her lighter, digestive biscuit colour hair moving with her shoulders. It's even longer than Bailey's, and tends to behave in extreme weather. Bailey believes this to be Nazi witchcraft, attributable to Dylan's Germanic ancestry. Bailey sensed the stare more than anything, a signal of their deep, telepathic connection. Or possibly, the reflection in the window.

"Ehhh," Dylan said, "I made the bullseye from ten feet."

"Well aren't you special," came the sarcastic response.

Meet Dylan and Bailey. Residents of Forks, Washington. Not DC, just Washington. Where it rains. And rains. And occasionally, it also rains.

Dylan is the oldest, by just over three months, and proudly 16. Bailey lags behind, having turned 16 in January.

Today, it is April 3rd. Slowly emerging from the winter months into the identical Washington spring.

Bailey dropped the remaining dart, losing interest, and it fell from her hand, twisting in the air, to embed itself in the old orange carpet of the garage.

"Well," Bailey said, flopping onto the other end of the couch her dear friend was seated on, "We've got six weeks until summer vacations rolls around. How are we going to end Sophomore year?"

Dylan dropped her car magazine and looked at Bailey contemplatively.

"I know that look," Bailey said knowingly, grinning with startling enthusiasm. She leaned back against the side of the couch and closed her eyes with a chuckle.

Dylan leaned forwards.

"Well," she whispered.

"Yes?" Bailey whispered back.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking? What we've _always_ wanted to do? Even if we never admitted it?"

Bailey sighed heavily and nodded. "Yeah," she said, gulping. She opened her eyes and stared back at Dylan's Nivea blue eyes.

"Let's run for school president," they said at the same time.

* * *

(Bet you weren't expecting that. Or, possibly, you were. It is impossible for I, the Creator, Taha Aki, to be wrong.)

* * *

"Oi," Bailey whispered, as they walked. Unfortunately, Monday had once again rolled around. Such a mysterious occurrence.

"Oi," she tried again. But to no avail, Dylan walked on. Bailey remained unacknowledged, and it hurt her wittle heart so much that she began to scowl. Bailey looked at her sideways, her eyebrows creased and mouth parted. She wondered how early one became naturally deaf. Or maybe it was hereditary.

"Are you fucking stupid?" she said.

"No," came the instant reply. Wrong diagnosis, then.

She, Dylan the dipiest-sticker, felt Bailey's agitation spike. Dylan's mouth twitched into a smile, but she hid it by looking away. They trudged onwards, comfortably dressed in torn jeans and fading merchandise shirts. Their surroundings were slowly giving way from lush green forestry to the old school grounds and parking lot. Hardly anyone had arrived, or so it seemed, but in reality, Fork's High School wasn't even that big. Like all those guys who lie to their girlfriends about their mini-me's height.

Bailey huffed and clenched her folder tighter. It just had a clearfile with candy it. It was all she would ever need.

"Oi," she said again. "Wh-"

"My name isn't 'oi', faggot," Dylan said, smiling at a girl that hated them as they passed. The girl muttered something offensive under her breath to her friends and hitcher her belt-skirt higher.

"My name isn't faggot, asshole."

Dylan nodded to a tune in her head, "Nooow you're talking," she said.

They entered a building, the only building really, because the garden's and gym were really just pack-houses for the slaughter, and became one with the incessant jumble of poor hygiene, healthy, make up, decisions and an overload of hormones. For the total population of the cheerios around them, they were the piss in the milk.

And they loved it.

"Move, freak," a tall blond boy spat as he slammed past Dylan.

"I am so glad my herpes is gone!" Dylan said loud enough for the entire hall to hear her. Almost used to the disgusting nature of the two girls, the noise barely changed. The tall boy certainly heard it though. Dylan flapped her hand around. "Such fun," she said.

There was a gag from the blond boy as he dropped his folder on his friends foot.

"Oh my god," Kelly, the boy's girlfriend, breathed. She took a step away from the boy. "You've been contaminated," she shrieked, and scrambled away, her belt-skirt flourishing around her red thong as she went.

"Damn!," Bailey said, shaking her head, "I must have gotten mine from you!"

Kelly shrieked again, having heard that comment, also, and appeared to move farther away in her quest for whatever disease it was she so desired.

The people around them glanced cautiously, but most just lingered out of reach and continued their conversations.

"Such fun," they said at the same time.

* * *

**Woooooooooooooooooah, now how much fun was thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat.**


End file.
